


On Irony

by BMP



Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: 2K Round-up Challenge, Gen, Old West
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-18
Updated: 2014-03-18
Packaged: 2018-01-16 03:45:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1330714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BMP/pseuds/BMP
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris, the ceiling, and the middle of the night</p>
            </blockquote>





	On Irony

**Author's Note:**

> These characters do not belong to the author (but if it were our sandbox, we’d let YOU play in it…) That said, this story was written purely for self entertainment and no money is being made, has changed hands, or has been paid out for the contents therein. Special thanks to V for beta-ing, criticizing, and cheerleading. Special thanks to GSister, since without her patience and insistence, I never would have posted anything.
> 
> ~Constructive Criticism will be passed on to the author  
> ~Flames will be used to toast marshmallows

**On Irony**

Irony.

That’s the fancy two-dollar word for it. Standish would say “It’s ironic”. 

Buck would just say it’s “Horseshit”. Buck has a way of getting down to the heart of the matter. Other people slap pretty names on things and think that makes it better somehow. Buck’s too smart to fall for that. 

I don’t know about me. “Ironic” goes down a lot easier. 

Sometimes a man comes to a place where he can say there is something more important than his own life, something worth giving up life and breath and body for. An ideal, maybe. I’ve seen a whole lot of men die for those. For a time, I was ready to be one of ‘em. Threw up everything and threw right in with ‘em. All ready to die for the idea of keepin’ a country together. But that was easy, somehow, surrounded by a whole mess of men just as stupid as I was. But that was back then. I’m not so keen on dyin’ for ideals anymore. 

I’ve seen a whole lot of men die over greed, too. Stupid, if you ask me. But then money’s never held that kind of temptation for me, so I guess that one doesn’t count. 

Buck says I’m gonna die for pure cussedness, and likely he’ll be the one to make it happen. He’s got a point. ‘Though I’ve no worries on that second count. 

‘Course that doesn’t count either. When a man lies awake at night with his head spinning, thinkin’ about all the ways there are to lose in this world, when he promises himself that if the worst happens, he’ll be up to the job, it ain’t cussedness he’s willing to kill and die for. 

It sure ain’t what I promised I would kill and die for. 

Without a doubt, without a hesitation, with no uncertainty at all, I knew I would give my life and more—and gladly—to keep them safe. 

But I didn’t get that chance. 

And that’s ironic because when a man makes a promise like that to himself, he thinks he's made a deal with Fate. And he expects Fate to live up to her end of the bargain. He expects it’s an absolute fact. That if the worst should happen, he will die, so they will live. That’s how it’s supposed to happen.

Not the other way around. 

I loved them more than life. 

They’re gone. 

I have life. 

Ironic, right?

Or maybe it’s horseshit. 

Either way, that’s the stone cold fact. 

They’re gone.

I have life. 

Only, what am I supposed to do with it now?


End file.
